


Check-up

by MistressKat



Category: Scrubs
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What? No chick-flick moment? I'm disappointed Wilma, I really am. Aren't you going to tell me 'it wasn't my fault' over and over until I break down and cry on your scrawny shoulder?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salmon_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=salmon_pink).



> Please note that the fic refers strongly to what was revealed about Dr. Cox's background in episode 5.05 _My New God._
> 
> This was written for [sitcomathon](http://community.livejournal.com/sitcomathon/) for [salmon_pink](http://salmon-pink.livejournal.com/) whose prompt was check-up. I truly hope this meets with your approval. Beta by the talented [bloodrebel333](http://bloodrebel333.livejournal.com/) who once told me she'd "beta anything" and may yet live to regret it. Thank you also to [dark_cygnet](http://dark-xygnet.livejournal.com/) for comments and encouragement during the writing.

“Lorelai!” A shrill whistle cut through the ailing masses, snapping everyone’s head up in attention. It looked eerily like a pack of coyotes suddenly catching scent of something juicy and almost dead. Conditioning à la High School P.E. If I closed my eyes I could still feel the twinge in my groin, like a phantom jock-strap.

It was the flu season and the clinic was full of coughing and wheezing people, spraying their germs this way and that. Not that it had any effect on Dr. Cox. “Hold it there, Newbie,” he barked, making his way across the room. I clutched the doorway, casting a forlorn glance toward the doctor’s lounge and the non-fat cherry yoghurt waiting for me in the fridge. It had been so close.

“Got a job for you.” Dr. Cox whacked a folder to my hands, his presence huge and looming and oddly comfortable.

“Watch it! Delicate bone structure here.” I slipped two fingers into my mouth, soothing the sting with my tongue. Owwies.

Dr. Cox’s eyes dropped to my lips before flitting away so quickly I thought I must have imagined it. Then he pulled my hand out and closed it around the folder. “Stop being such a preteen girl, for god’s sake.” I tried. Puberty was hard.

“Listen, Dr. Willis is at some useless fluffy-duffy conference in California, probably cruising rent boys and drinking rainbow cocktails with a straw, and I need someone’s signature on a quick basic physical for insurance reasons. Jordan, may her rotten remains smoulder in Hell forever, has gotten it into her horned head that I need to update my life insurance. Some crap about how she and Jack need the financial security in case something happens to me. Frankly I don’t see what she’s worrying about, seeming that she will probably get close to $100.000 by selling my organs on the black market after I bite the dust.” Dr. Cox looked around, a completely justified gleam of paranoia in his eyes. “Quite likely even before that.”

Needless to say, he and Jordan were on the “Off” period of their on-again-off-again-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep-after-having-hot-sex-with-you-just-this-last-time relationship. I felt buoyed by the fact, even though I knew it was only a matter of days before they were back to public shouting matches and making out in the empty hospital rooms. Being a supportive male friend _sucked_.

My brain, working its Cox-to-English interpreter on autopilot, finally caught up with the gist of his rant. “What, so you want _me_ to give you a physical?” Maybe there were some perks to the role of supporting male friend, after all.

Dr. Cox’s face crumbled alarmingly. “Got it in one, Rosalie.” He sniffed dramatically, wrapping one broad hand at the back of my neck and squeezing gently. “My boy… He’s gotten so smart.”

I preened.

“Right. Tomorrow, three pm, exam room eight. I only got a thirty minute break so don’t be late.” All business again, he let go of me, turned on his heels and strode away.

 

***

 

The file Dr. Cox had given me was, predictably, his own. It was also one of the most boring patient histories I’d ever seen, and I had once sat through a three hour monologue about Mrs. Juniper’s varicose veins.

Like in all patient files, the most recent stuff was on the top. Dr. Perry William Cox had had his last check-up about half a year ago and by all accounts he was a disgustingly healthy specimen of middle-aged Caucasian male. The most exciting things I found were vague references to a nasty bout of stomach flu a couple of years ago, oh and at age 26 he’d had his appendix removed.

Yawn.

The last sheet of paper detailed a relatively neat fracture of the lateral malleolus, a typical football injury. I did some quick mental arithmetic and concluded that yes, Dr. Cox would have probably been a college freshman at the time.

And that’s where the file ended. There was nothing from before he turned eighteen. Nada. Zip. Zippety zipparoo. The back end of the binder stared at me in the eye, somehow taunting in its blankness.

Well, color me annoyed. And you know, with the usual rosy tint on my cheeks.

I slapped the file shut and went looking for Dr. Willis’ secretary.

  
***

Even in retrospect it’s difficult to understand what exactly made me do it. Curiosity certainly, and a sense of righteous vengeance, perhaps a hope of finding out some embarrassing growth charts of him as a toddler.

It’s not like I needed a childhood medical history to conduct a basic physical exam.

And yet, here it was. Dr. Willis’ secretary had been very accommodating, going through her boss’s filing cabinet with the kind of frightening efficiency that only sixty-something administrators with a minimum of five grandchildren have.

Anyway, the file. I skimmed through vaccinations, broken arm, chicken pox, unexplained bruises, typical kid stuff. But by the time I got to the part about burns and concussions and social worker visits, I knew none of it was routine.

And in every word I recognised not Perry, but Nathan.

***

When I was seven-and-three-quarters I already knew liking unicorns was _not cool_. So when mom made me walk to school with the new boy from next door who had a unicorn key ring, I sulked.

My bad mood lasted only until old Mrs. Kowalski’s house (two blocks from ours) where Nathan sat down, dug out some chalks and started drawing straight onto the pavement. I was fascinated, enchanted, and a little bit in love.

Nathan didn’t talk much, which was fine, because even at that age I was known for my loquacious nature. We got along like a house on fire.

Kids are intrinsically self-involved, but even so, by the time I turned _eight_-and-three-quarters, I’d realised that Nathan didn’t get his bruises from falling down the stairs. For one, theirs was a single-story house, and for two… Nathan told me the truth. Well. Drew it. Whatever.

The thing was, boys age eight-and-three-quarters are not very good with the concept of confidence, so I told mom. And I used words.

Two weeks later Nathan’s family moved away.

  
***

I knew from long experience that it was absolutely futile trying to keep anything from Dr. Cox. My face was like an open book, one of those padded ones for toddlers with simple words and big colorful pictures of farmyard animals. Uh, okay, maybe it was less about dairy cows and more about naked emotion, but what it all boiled down to was--

“You went and got the rest of my file, didn’t you?” Dr. Cox was sitting on the edge of the exam table, a contemptuous sneer firmly in place and his legs swinging like there wasn’t a care in the world.

I closed the exam room door behind me and nodded. The moment stretched like a cosmic rubber band. Uncharacteristically, it was Dr. Cox who snapped first.

“What? No chick-flick moment? I’m disappointed Wilma, I really am. Aren’t you going to tell me ‘it wasn’t my fault’ over and over until I break down and cry on your scrawny shoulder?”

It would have been pointless to answer so I just put the file down and unfurled the stethoscope from around my neck. “Let’s start with the old heart-and-lungs, shall we?”

He blinked at me – an honest to God gears-shifting, wheels-turning blink of confusion. In any other circumstances it would’ve been sweet. Now it only made me swallow around the sour taste in my mouth.

I made vague hand motions at him and after few seconds, Dr. Cox grabbed the neck of his scrubs, yanking the top off one-handed.

He was still under my hands, so very still. And really, it made sense now, all those times he’d avoided my attempts of hugs and casual shoulder bumps and manly pats on the back. Dr. Cox wasn’t big on touching and it turned out he had a good reason not to be.

“Cardio-pulmonary systems are a-okay. All that gym time must be good for something...” I kept up an incessant stream of meaningless prattle, going through the necessary motions on autopilot.

Dr. Cox’s eyes followed me around the room but he didn’t say anything. I kept thinking about the last time I saw Nathan, sitting in the backseat of the family car, surrounded by cardboard boxes and not waving goodbye.

 

***

 

The following week was… weird. Well, weirder than was usual to Sacred Hearts. Sure, Dr. Kelso still paid cancer kids to wax his car, the Janitor had an unfortunate encounter with superglue and a large yellow sponge, and Elliot slept with not one, but three patients, all of whom were related by blood.

All of it, however, seemed empty and meaningless, because Dr. Cox was nowhere to be seen. Well, if I was lucky I could just make out the soles of his trendy Nikes as they disappeared behind the corner and a swish of a white coat. That was it, though.

“Carlaaaaaa,” I whined, channelling Rowdy pre-stuffing. I was tired, coming off a night-shift and feeling rather pathetic.

Carla sighed and got down to my level, at the same altitude as the countertop of the nurses’ station, against which I was sprawled, head pillowed in my arms. She mimicked my position and we ended almost nose-to-nose, staring at each other cross-eyed. “Go home, Bambi. Go home before you do more damage than drooling on Mr. Travis’ chart.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a wise woman?” I peeled my face off the papers, which, truth be told, were a bit on the soggy side.

“All the time, JD. All the time.”

Carla abandoned me in order to see to her husband, who was currently curled up under the very same counter we’d been leaning on. It was that time of the month and Turk took it much harder than most men. I left him some prescription chocolate buttons and took myself elsewhere.

However, instead of heading straight home and to the waiting arms of my ratty old couch (I got lonely sleeping in the bed) I decided to indulge in hot food, yesterday’s cornflakes being only a distant memory by now. I changed direction mid-stride, almost colliding with Doug and his latest customer.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry, Mrs…” I checked the toe tag. “Blythe.” I patted the plastic covered body consolingly and weaved toward the canteen.

There’s only one thing the hospital cafeteria did well and that’s because they used a store-bought batter-mix. In any case, the pancakes smelled heavenly and I piled my plate as high as was safe and then just a bit higher.

I was about half-way through my breakfast, fingers sticky with maple syrup and as close to feeling warm and content as I’d been all week, when the chair next to mine was scraped back loudly and obnoxiously. Dr. Cox dropped his tray onto the table, collapsing to the seat with none of his usual grace.

“Dr. Cox.” I greeted him, taking in the slump of his shoulders and the tired lines around his eyes. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d been having a bad week.

“Kerry-Lou,” he nodded back briefly.

We ate in silence.

Finally the last morsel was gone and I was left staring at my empty plate, out of excuses to stay but not really wanting to go. Slowly I started to gather my things, preparing to get up.

Dr. Cox’s hand shot out, fingers closing around my arm and tugging me back down.

“I’m getting some coffee.” His voice was gruff and he was looking everywhere but me.

“Okay…” It took me three uncomfortable seconds to get it, but I had been awake close to twenty hours at that point so it could have been far worse. In the end, the light dawned, the penny dropped, the fat-lady… Wait. No. Not that.

Quite the opposite in fact.

“Sounds like a good idea. Could you get me a cup as well? I’m this close to falling asleep and I’ve been told from reliable sources that I tend to drool when unconscious.”

Something that looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a smile twitched on Dr. Cox’s lips. “That’s real attractive, Ashley. It’s a wonder you’re not beating them off with a stick.” The words were nothing new, but the tone was about a million tons lighter. Without further ado, he got up and fetched two cups of hospital coffee, black, bitter and quite possibly lethal.

It tasted fantastic.

“Look. Here’s the thing.” Dr. Cox thrummed his fingers absently, staring into the depths of his coffee, presumably in search of ‘the thing’ in question.

I wanted to say something, make promises and make it all go away. But if Nathan had taught me anything, it was that I couldn’t, that perhaps I shouldn’t even try.

“That… was a long time ago. And yeah, it sucked, but you move out, move on, get an education, get drunk, get a job, get laid, and it’s all good and gravy and pretty damn amazing. But even if you get over it, no one else does, because it’s always there, in your file, a goddamn life sentence of pity.” He glanced sideways, eyes flicking over my face, finding none. “I fucking hate pity.”

I nodded. That had never even been an issue here, at least not for me. Pity was so far from what I was feeling that it was practically in a different galaxy.

“I hate this sort of emotional soul-baring crap even more.” Dr. Cox ran a hand through his hair, slouching lower in the plastic chair. “But I figure I kinda owe you, so…”

Well, that was bullshit. “You don’t have to-“

“Shut up, JD. We’re doing this once, and _only_ once, so you might as well close your mouth and listen.”

The use of my name had made sure of that.

“So.” Dr. Cox turned to meet my eyes for the first time since the physical. “I’m not going to embarrass either of us by asking you not to say anything, when it’s excruciatingly obvious you haven’t, and when that was the reason I asked you to cover for Dr. Willis in the first place.”

I may have gaped a bit at this juncture, because Dr. Cox actually looked sheepish for about oh-point-three seconds before tapping my chest with a spoon.

“I was pretty sure you’d go find the rest of the file as soon as you realised it was missing. Agatha was under strict orders from both Dr. Willis and myself not to release it to anyone else except you.”

Well, that was… Actually, I wasn’t sure what it was. Something important probably. Hopefully.

“God knows I like to take risks; I’ve water skied blindfolded, eaten Fugu, and there was that one time when Ben and I lost a bet in a brothel, although the less said about that the better.”

I had a flash of the two of them in red garters, doing the can-can and singing _Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada._ Thankfully it was short-lived.

“However, as much as it pains me to admit less than stellar performance in any area of life, I’m just not very good at taking risks with people.” Dr. Cox bumped my shoulder with his, so casual it was anything but, and straightened abruptly. “I’m kind of glad this one panned out.” He stood up.

I picked up the empty coffee cups and followed him to the door. “So, uh, anytime you need someone to cover for Dr. Willis…” It was a lame offer.

Dr. Cox’s eyebrows seemed to think so, climbing upwards on his forehead as he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, Meredith. It would hardly be appropriate to mix a professional relationship into a personal one. God, don’t they teach you anything in medical school?”

I was pretty sure I’d missed the class on “Your Mentor and You – When the Lines Become Blurry and Disappear”, which was a crying shame since it might have given me something more constructive to say than _nnnngh_.

Dr. Cox whirled around, catching me by the forearms just as I stumbled head first against his chest.

“God, Newbie.” He sighed, looking me up and down and back up again, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Tell me you aren’t just coming off a twelve-hour shift?”

“Uh.” I took a peek at my watch. “Actually, it’s more like eighteen hours now. Michaels had a family thing, don’t really know what, something to do with ponies, but was afraid to ask for details, and I promised to-”

“Jesus H. Christ on a unicycle. I’m talking to the walking dead here. You’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow, are you? I’m going to have to go through all this shit again.” Dr. Cox’s voice was annoyed but his eyes were ten types of kind.

I didn’t think it was going to be necessary, but the fact that he was prepared to, nevertheless put a goofy grin on my face.

Dr. Cox shook his head and extracted the coffee mugs from my suddenly nerveless hands. “Get some sleep, will you? For the sake of my sanity. What’s left of it anyway.”

I nodded silently, smiling like an idiot.

Remember that bit about my face being an open book? Add to that sleep deprivation and heart’s desire, and the end result was closer to a fifteen foot billboard with flashing neon lights. I had no doubt Dr. Cox was reading me loud and clear.

And for the first time it seemed I would be allowed the same freedom.


End file.
